


Sigils & Signs

by AlatusNora



Series: Gently Rise & Softly Fall [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Humor, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale has a bad day, Aziraphale wards the shop, Aziraphale's guardian demon, Crepe Date, Crowley cares about his angel, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, I swear, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Lullabies, M/M, Multi, Occult, Occult Magic, Sleepy Crowley (Good Omens), Some hurt/comfort, and they hold hands, crowley sings, dangerous toys are fun but you could get hurt, discussion of Falling, that's a trigun quote, this is a lighter piece, while being complete dorks, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlatusNora/pseuds/AlatusNora
Summary: Had you asked Aziraphale what his plans for the day were, he would have told you running his bookshop, or maybe doing a little bit of light reading, or if he was feeling particularly brave, he might even admit that he was, quite possibly, going to confess his feelings to a certain nice demon he’d been sweet on for more years than he was quite willing to count. Or, at least, that was his plan up until Heaven sends him a rude note, and well, now… now Aziraphale fears what is to come.





	Sigils & Signs

It started with a note from Heaven. A simple pure white envelope slipped through the mail slot of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Not that he noticed, at least, not until he’d gone to lock up for the evening and stepped on it. A jolt of holy power went up his leg like an electric shock. He startled, unhurt, looking down.  
  
The too white envelope peeked out from under his shoe. He stared, eyes going wide, and then he panicked. He wanted to go in three different directions at once. He wanted to flee. He wanted to get it off the floor. He wanted to call Crowley.   
  
The last thought startled him so much, he slammed nose first into a bookcase. Several books fell as he stumbled back, clutching at his poor abused container. He blinked away tears, staring at the note again.   
  
Why? Why were they contacting him _now?_ It hadn’t even been three months. He had just– Crowley, he’d been about to tell Crowley– He’d been giddy with the idea of being something _more_. And now this.  
  
His nerves felt raw.  
  
In the end, he snapped a dustpan and broom into his hands, sweeping up the note with a mix of trepidation and indignation. He carried the whole thing at arms length across the bookshop. In the back room, he stopped before the trash bin, hesitating. His hand tightened on the dustpan. He stared intently at the bin. The note remained where it was. He couldn’t do it.   
  
Six thousand years, and he still couldn’t just throw out a note they’d sent him.  
  
Feeling sick to his core, he turned, and yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk. He tipped the note, dust bunnies and all, inside, and slammed the drawer shut. He felt like a coward. A soft bumbling coward.   
  
He put the dustpan and broom away, all the enthusiasm for his evening lost.  
  
The bell above the door rang. Aziraphale jumped, heart in his throat. “Angel!” Crowley’s cheery voice made relief rush through him. The demon appeared a moment later, grinning ear to ear, swaggering toward him. “Guess what, I just got ahold–” He stopped short, smile dropping, the tickets in his hand forgotten. “Angel, what’s wrong?”  
  
Aziraphale’s fingers twitched, and it was only then he realized he’d twisted them around one of the buttons of his waistcoat. He forced himself to let go, but the nervous energy was still there, and his hands gravitated towards each other. He hid them behind his back, which didn’t help at all. He probably looked like a misbehaving schoolboy. But then, neither of them have been school children– and Crowley had never been interested in reading– so maybe–  
  
“Angel?”  
  
Hopes dashed, Aziraphale could only stare at the floor. Crowley stepped closer, leaning down slightly so that their gazes met again. He looked worried. Aziraphale swallowed hard, hesitating, but remained silent.   
  
There was still a distance between them. Even now, after the world hadn’t come to an end, both of them were hesitating about closing that last little bit of distance.   
  
“Angel?” The query was soft. “Did something happen?”  
  
“I–” He bit the words back. No, no he shouldn’t say anything about– about– His eyes jumped, unbidden, to the bottom drawer.  
  
Crowley, too quick on the uptake, looked as well. “What’s in there?”  
  
“Nothing!” With the panic in his tone, he might as well have hung a neon sign over it.  
  
In one motion, Crowley yanked the drawer open and reached in.  
  
Aziraphale squawked a warning, but it was a second too late.   
  
Crowley swore, fingers scalded, but he still tore the letter open. He dropped the divine missive onto Aziraphale’s desk, leaning over to read it. After a moment, he let out a breath, knocking the note back into the drawer, and slammed it shut. Aziraphale winced as the desk shook. Crowley straightened, hands twitching, but making a point of not to shake out his pink tinged fingers.  
  
Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. He rushed forward, catching Crowley’s hands and cradling them in his own. With a sharp push of his power, he healed the damaged skin, drawing out the redness and pain. That finished, he began checking over for other blemishes even as guilt gnawed at him. “You didn’t have to do that, my dear.”  
  
“Sure I did.” Crowley shrugged. “Needed to know what they bloody well wanted.”  
  
Aziraphale stilled, looking up. Their eyes met. Aziraphale sucked in a breath, fingers twitching, only to realize he was still _holding_ Crowley’s hand.   
  
They both pulled away at the same time.   
  
Aziraphale cleared his throat, giving an entirely fake cough. “What did they… what did the note say?”  
  
Crowley scoffed, waving his healed hand dismissively. “Nothing important. Just being jerks, trying to make you feel bad by cutting your ‘celestial wages’.” Crowley gave a mocking laugh, before he blew a raspberry.  
  
“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice was very small.  
  
The demon gave him a sharp look. “Aziraphale?”   
  
He blinked. Oh. Of course. He’d forgotten Crowley didn’t know.  
  
He opened his mouth, hesitating, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say it. Six thousand years and he couldn’t shake the fear. He really was a soft bumbling coward. He swallowed hard. “Given– given the, uh, note, I think I would like to increase the security on the shop.” Crowley stared, uncomprehending. Aziraphale drew himself up. “I want to ward it.”  
  
“Against what?” There was a note in Crowley voice, one Aziraphale didn’t know how to interpret.  
  
He drew a breath. “Against angels.”  
  
There was a heavy silence. Crowley’s eyes had gone wide. “But angel, you–”  
  
“I know.” He felt calmer, hands smoothing down his waistcoat. “I’d rather not lock myself out, but…” He also didn’t want the others dropping in unannounced. “I would, it would make, that is, would you help me?”  
  
“Of course, angel.”  
  
Crowley’s answer made him beam.  
  


* * *

  
Research, Aziraphale was quick to realize, was not Crowley’s forte. Not that he was terribly surprised. Reading had always been his own interest. The fact that the demon managed to spend half the night going through obscure old texts and writing down his own observations from years gone by, well, it meant far more to Aziraphale than he had words for. They’d been researching for hours now, not that such small increments of time were supposed to mean anything to etherial and occult beings such as themselves.   
  
But then, they weren’t supposed to get bored either, nor were they supposed to get sleepy, and yet…   
  
Aziraphale gave a soft longing sigh, openly watching his dear friend. Crowley had succumbed to sleep’s siren call, and now comfortable and oblivious to the world, he was sprawled out across the sofa, snoring softly, the book he’d been reading lying over his face.   
  
The sight was so endearing, Aziraphale simply sat there, just simply observing him. Crowley looked so peaceful, like nothing in the world could disturb him.  
  
Then a yawn cracked Aziraphale’s jaw. He froze. Nothing moved in the shop. He snapped his jaw shut, eyes darting to Crowley, but the demon slumbered on, oblivious to what had just occurred. A clock chimed the hour. Aziraphale grimaced. He turned back to his notes, trying to pick up where he’d left off. He studied the sketch he’d started of a modified ward, cataloging the way the sigils would trap a demon within it. If he changed some of the runes, maybe he could–  
  
He bit his lip. But making something exclusively aimed at angels would target him as well. He stared at the design, mentally running ideas over in his mind, cataloging what could and could not be changed without causing the whole ward to fail. The design of the ward was such that there was room to shift symbols around, and to declare a specific name unwelcome. But that would require a true name, and writing one of those out would be the equivalent of yanking on that person’s hair, a surefire way of provoking the very reaction they were trying to avoid.   
  
If he did such a foolish thing, he would be calling down the full wrath of Heaven upon them, and then…  
  
Aziraphale went still. There wouldn’t be enough time. Heaven could be swift when it came to matters of judgement. Aziraphale shuddered. If the wrath of Heaven came for them, defending the shop would become the least of their worries. His grimace deepened. No, this whole idea wasn’t practical. Even if he did manage to magically write down every single true name of the heavenly host, the ward he was currently studying would still likely fail. Pushing back against that much holy powered would– well, he wasn’t sure what it would do. Nothing good.  
  
He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He needed a break. Rising to his feet, he misjudge the distance from his desk, and knocked into the edge of it. Papers and scrolls scattered, spilling out onto the floor. “Oh– bother.” He’d already sworn enough for one century and he wasn’t willing to make a habit of it, even in the face of his own clumsiness.   
  
He bent down, retrieving papers, when Crowley let out a snort. He looked up, expecting to see the demon smirking at him. Instead Crowley shifted on the sofa he was sprawled on, the book slipping off his face. It fell to the floor, landing on the carpet with a soft thump. A soft hissing snore of breath escaped the demon as he settled once more.  
  
Aziraphale shook his head with fondness. Setting the scrolls and papers on his desk, he went to rescue the fallen book, and smacked face first into an invisible barrier. He winced, cradling his now twice abused nose as he stepped back– and crashed straight into another invisible wall. Alarmed, he turned in a circle, hand out, only to find the barrier went all the way around him in a far too tight a circle.  
  
He looked down, and swore. There, just peaking out from under the edge of the rug beside him, was the corner of a page. A page covered with his own neat writing, and the sketched ward meant for trapping demons. Apparently, the blasted thing wasn’t as picky about its target as he’d foolishly believed. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Aziraphale realized he was trapped.   
  
He looked back at the sleeping demon. “Crowley!” He was _never_ going to live this down.  
  
Crowley continued to snore, not so much as twitching.  
  
The sinking feeling in Aziraphale’s chest grew worse. Crowley had slept through a whole century once, missing the First World War, not so much as twitching when bombs had fallen on London. What chance did he have waking him now?  
  
A clock chimed announcing it was a quarter past four. The sky was still dark out. Aziraphale did not want to spend the whole night standing here. “Crowley!” There was nothing within his circular prison he could reach and throw at the demon.  
  
But as he learned from years of watching humans, sometimes, frustration was the mother of invention.   
  
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, calling up a rude awakening for the demon. A gallon of water appeared, bounced off the barrier, and dropped with a splash all over Aziraphale’s head. He spluttered, wiping water from his face. More droplets ran down his neck and into his collar. Aziraphale gave himself a moment to sulk. He brushed back the hair plastered to his forehead. Why did this have to happen to him? He felt like a drowned rat.   
  
He looked desperately at the sofa, but Crowley slept on. Aziraphale puffed out a cheek. He shook the water off his hands, not caring where the droplets went. Who cares if some of them landed on Crowley’s fancy jacket. That was what he got for hanging it on the edge of– of–  
  
He blinked. “Oh.” He looked down at his hands, and then measured the distance to the edge of the sofa where the jacket hung. Definitely outside the range of his prison.   
  
He flicked his hand again, watching as the water passed through the invisible barrier without stopping. Aziraphale beamed, feeling a rush of triumph. Finally! Something he could work with. With another snap of his fingers, a rubber ball appeared in his hand. He weighed it for a moment, letting his celestial energy ebb from the rubber. If he was right, the ward should consider it ‘mundane’ after a set period of time, and let it pass through. Otherwise, he was going to have a rubber ball in his face. He grimaced. There was only one way to find out.   
  
He took careful aim at the demon and threw. The ball passed through the barrier without hindrance, and struck Crowley in the forehead.  
  
Aziraphale crowded up against the edge of his prison, waiting with bated breath, as the rubber ball bounced away, disappearing under a bookshelf.   
  
Crowley let out a long peaceful snore, his forked tongue darting into the air. Peaceful, oblivious to the world, he continued to sleep on.  
  
“Confound it!” Aziraphale banged a fist against his invisible prison. He was being mocked! And by a sleeping demon, no less. Annoyed, he snapped his fingers, calling forth a balloon filled with chilled water. “Wake up already!” He lobbed it at the sleeping demon.  
  
The balloon exploded against Crowley’s chest and the demon woke with a spluttered, “Oi!”  
  
“Crowley!”  
  
Two bleary eyes stared at him, taking in his soaked appearance. “What the bless, angel? Wha’ you playing at?”  
  
“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale rocked back on his heels, “just testing a ward against angels. Might need some work given I can still attack someone outside it.”  
  
Crowley shot bolt upright. “What!”  
  
Aziraphale pointed at his feet. “Won’t you be a dear, and get me out?”  
  
Crowley scrambled up, and Aziraphale’s heart did a funny little skip as the demon hurried to his side. Crowley knelt down beside him, yanking up the edge of the carpet. A growl escaped him, and the offending paper went alight.  
  
“Crowley!” All that work!  
  
The demon huffed. “I know what I’m doing, angel.” He smothered the flames a moment later, tugging the paper out from under the angel’s feet. Aziraphale didn’t feel the the barrier knock against him and let out a relieved breath. Freedom. He stepped back, stretching out his legs.  
  
He offered Crowley a grateful smile. “Thank you, my dear. Here, let me dry us off.” He snapped his fingers, blinking as his vision did a funny little dip. Oh.  
  
Crowley grumbled, studying the partly burnt paper. “New rule. No more experimenting without supervision. Got that?”  
  
“Hm?” At Crowley’s deadpan look, Aziraphale snapped to attention. “Oh. Yes, yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, holding out his hand. Crowley didn’t give the paper back to him. Instead, the demon was frowning, which meant he was only a step away from realizing something was up. Panic rushed through Aziraphale, and words leapt into his mouth. “Right, no experimenting. Got it. All tickety boo now!” He took another step away. “Good thing you were here, my dear.” Another step back. “How does tea sound?”  
  
“Aziraphale?”   
  
“I purchased some more of that one you like. It’ll just take a moment for the kettle to boil.” He hurried off, not waiting for an answer, and thus entirely missed the worried frown Crowley gave his back.  
  


* * *

  
Something was up with Aziraphale. Well, that was slightly untrue. Crowley knew exactly what had upset Aziraphale. The rude little note from Heaven. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the connection between the message showing up and the sudden interest in warding the bookshop against all types of heavenly and hellish pests. No, that wasn’t the surprise.  
  
What was unusual was how his angel was going about it.  
  
Like a rabid dog in pursuit of a bone. Fixated. Crowley had taken to ordering food in, anything, to create a small distraction, a break from whatever this was. Because, well, he’d almost say Aziraphale was running himself into the ground.  
  
He was… worried.  
  
There was a crash and a shout from the back. Alarmed, Crowley abandoned the book on occult sigils he’d been fetching, and hurried around the counter. “Angel?”  
  
“I’m alright!” The answer was quick, and maybe a little tense. “I just… tripped.”  
  
Aziraphale had become increasingly more clumsy over the last two weeks. Another thing Crowley was most definitely _not_ worrying about.  
  
He didn’t slow as he came through the doorway into the backroom. Aziraphale was on his feet, dusting off his clothes, the wrinkled and upturned edge of the carpet behind him the obvious culprit.   
  
Crowley just took a moment, leaning back against the doorjamb. “You know, I think that carpet has it in for you.”  
  
The look Aziraphale shot him was petulant. “Yes, well, don’t start yelling at the poor thing.”  
  
Crowley stared at the rug just long enough for it to flatten itself out against the floor. Satisfied, he flicked his eyes back to the angel, and tried for an air of nonchalance. “What say you to getting some crepes?”   
  
Aziraphale’s shoulders jumped, tensing up. Crowley’s unease grew. Yeah. Whatever this was, it was getting worse. “That sounds…” he trailed out, regret dancing in his words.   
  
Crowley doubled down. He was a demon, one who had been playing the temptation game for six thousand years, and he would be blessed before he let Aziraphale worm his way out of this. “Come on, some crepes and then we can test out your exploding ward thingy, see if it still blows out the windows.”  
  
Aziraphale sighed. “I told you, that wasn’t supposed to happen– I overcharged it–”  
  
“Oh, come on, angel. I’m sure if you step away for a bit, and enjoy a nice fluffy crepe or two, you’ll have better idea of how to fix it.”  
  
Aziraphale shot him a look that said ‘I know exactly what you’re doing’. Crowley just raised an eyebrow back in challenge.   
  
A small huff, and Crowley recognized he was gaining ground. He let a bit of whine come into his voice, wheeling, “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll even let you order me one.”  
  
Aziraphale blinked, eyes brightening. “Really?”  
  
“Cross my demonic heart.” And he meant it. Aziraphale just didn’t realize he had every intention of taking his sweet, sweet, slow time eating said desert.  
  
Aziraphale smoothed down his waistcoat, trying to look demure, but was practically glowing at the edges. “Well, in that case, if you insist, I can’t very well refuse, now, can I.”  
  
“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ simply because he could.  
  
“Oh, alright, you’ve tempted me.” He beamed. “Did you have a particular place in mind?”  
  
“Wherever you want, angel.” The relief he felt was reward enough. Finally, finally, they were getting out of the bookshop. It would be the first time in two weeks. Hell, he’d have driven them to Alpha Centauri if Aziraphale so much as asked at this point.   
  
But then, even on a regular day, there was a lot he’d do for the angel, especially if it made him smile like that.  
  


* * *

  
They arrived at a small hole in the wall restaurant. The interior was… cozy. Better still, they had the place to themselves, and Crowley very silently thought that was perfect for their first foray out. They waited to be seated, and unsurprisingly the owner appeared, knowing Aziraphale by name, and delighting in seeing him again.   
  
Interestingly she also knew Crowley’s name, but had only smiled at him in a way that made him wonder what exactly Aziraphale had been saying to her. But he didn’t press. For the first time in two weeks the angel had been all smiles, exchanging the usual pleasantries, as the owner had shown them to a small table near the back.   
  
The sole plant sitting in the open window caught Crowley eyes for a bit, especially when he smiled at it and the leaves began to tremble in more than just the breeze coming in. The fern was definitely nowhere near reaching its growing potential.  
  
Aziraphale cleared his throat pointedly.   
  
Crowley blinked. Right. Aziraphale had talked to him about the whole ‘terrorizing plants’ thing. Fine. He’d just leave it to the plant’s actually owner to terrorize it. He huffed, sinking behind the menu. Not that he read it.  
  
As promised, Aziraphale ordered for both of them. Crowley pretended not to notice the radiant smile the angel gave him after the server left. The heat that rose in Crowley’s cheeks, however, was doing a bloody good job of giving him away. The traitors. Crowley grabbed his wine glass, which hadn’t been full the moment before, and took a large gulp.   
  
Aziraphale only looked amused, before his eyes drifted to the small window. It was a comfortable silence. Even if Aziraphale’s eyes were distant, not really seeing, and then Crowley felt a flash of worry. He hoped the angel wasn’t still thinking about wards.  
  
Crowley very purposefully cleared his throat. Aziraphale jumped. “Angel, I’ve been thinking, maybe we could–”  
  
The server returned, setting down three plates. With a delighted smile, Aziraphale thanked her and proceeded to place his napkin with a flourish, before picking up his silverware.   
  
Crowley sighed and looked down at his own meal. He prodded it with a fork. “What is it?” He hadn’t been paying attention to what Aziraphale had ordered.   
  
The angel beamed at him. “I thought you might like a savoury crepe instead of a sweet one.” He took a bite of his own, looking hopefully up at Crowley.  
  
The demon cut off a sizeable piece, flicking his somewhat forked tongue at it. He paused, processing the smell, before popping the piece into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and was pleasantly surprised by the spicy flavour. “It’sss good.”  
  
Aziraphale looked delighted.   
  
Crowley took his time cutting his next piece, toying with it on his plate. But across from him…  
  
Aziraphale was ravenous. Devouring both of his crepes in record time, not savouring a single bite. That… wasn’t normal. Not for Aziraphale.  
  
Crowley said nothing. He turned back to his own savoury crepe, but the second bite tasted like ash on his tongue.  
  
When Aziraphale had finished, he dabbed at his mouth, looking pleased at his empty plate. Crowley wasn’t even a third of the way into his. Across from him, Aziraphale leaned back from the table, eyes still distant.   
  
Crowley plucked up his courage, and tried again. “Angel, what say you to catching a play after this? I’m sure someone has to be doing Hamlet.”   
  
“Hmm?” Aziraphale blinked, taking a moment to register what Crowley has just said. “Oh. No, I don’t think so. Not today at least.” He offered Crowley a thin smile. “But you can go ahead, my dear. I’m sure you’ve had quite your fill of reading by now.”  
  
“No, no that’s– er–” Crowley swallowed hard. He couldn’t think of a good excuse. He _was_ sick of reading about wards. He huffed. “And who exactly is going to keep an eye on you, if I’m not there?”  
  
Aziraphale’s cheeks coloured, and he turned away with an indignant breath. Still sore about getting caught up in his own ward trap then.  
  
Crowley sighed. Well that had killed the conversation. Aziraphale wasn’t going to say anything else to him now, not until he was done sulking. Crowley prodded at his crepe, trying not to think of the tickets still sitting inside his jacket pocket. They were the only reason he knew about this whole mess to begin with. He’d been planning on surprising Aziraphale with tickets to a renascence fair. Thought that they’d go in period dress for a lark. It wasn’t for another week, but with way things were right now…  
  
He might as well chuck the tickets in the bin. Save himself the trouble.  
  
He sighed again and tried to look interested in the frankly delightfully spicy crepe Aziraphale had ordered him. The longer they stayed away from the bookshop the happier he’d be. That, right now, was contingent on his continued attention to his meal.  
  
Aziraphale’s plates were cleared away, and Crowley picked another piece off his crepe. Silence hung over their small table. Crowley toyed with his next bite. He studied the nearly empty state of his plate. Time to come up with another distraction. The lack of conversation was getting to him, anyway, which was probably Aziraphale’s aim in the first place. He sighed, and stole a glance at the angel, only to find Aziraphale sitting there with his eyes shut.   
  
Crowley did a double take. Eyes shut? Why would he– A soft dozing breath, not quite a snore, slipped out of Aziraphale’s parted lips. Crowley froze, not believing what he was seeing. He couldn’t be–  
  
The angel who never slept, who called it a waste of time, had dozed off right there at the table.  
  
Crowley felt something like panic claw up inside him. What should he do? Wake him up and…? Confront him? Their fight at the bandstand came to mind and he winced. Not friends. Too fast. Even if apologizes had been made. What was he supposed to do?  
  
His hand fluttered up, hesitating. He was too worried to let this be.  
  
Something was wrong, and he… Aziraphale was too important to him to… to just…  
  
He reached out, and with more courage than he felt, brushed his hand against Aziraphale’s arm. The angel startled, his knee banging against the table. Silverware tumbled to the floor unnoticed by both of them. There was a wild look in Aziraphale’s eyes as his gaze locked onto Crowley. They sat there like a frozen tableau, staring at each other for a long terrible minute.   
  
“Oh.” Aziraphale had gone absolutely ridged under his fingers.  
  
Crowley began to draw away, only to have Aziraphale catch hold of his hand. There was another beat where they both went still. Aziraphale swallowed, his lips trembling, eyes too bright. “I…” only to have his voice fail him.  
  
“Angel,” he tried for soft, “what’s going on?”   
  
“I don’t– Can we go back to the bookshop?”  
  
He nodded. “Of course.” He didn’t have the heart to object. Not when Aziraphale looked seconds away from shattering. He snapped up the payment for their meal, and, after a second, a takeaway box for the rest of his crepe. With another use of a miracle, he banished the box ahead of them to Aziraphale’s fridge. “This way, angel.”  
  
The Bentley was waiting for them outside the restaurant.   
  
The drive back to the bookshop was silent, Aziraphale struggling to keep his eyes open the whole way.  
  
Crowley said nothing, knuckles white against the steering wheel.  
  
When they arrived, Aziraphale climbed out of the Bentley, walking with measured, if somewhat slow steps toward the door of the shop. He stopped in front of it, making no move to unlock his home. Crowley did it for him, and the thankful smile he received was alarmingly tired. Crowley grit his teeth. He didn’t like any of this.   
  
He shoved the door shut behind them, letting it slam in his frustration and concern. Aziraphale stilled ahead of him, not turning, hands clasped together, fingers worrying at his vest. “I suppose you’re wondering, that is, an explanation should be, well, explained or– or given and I should–”  
  
“Angel.”  
  
Silence fell, heavy and thick. Aziraphale stood rigid, back facing Crowley, not looking at him. “You want answers.”  
  
He did. But not like this. A sigh escaped him. Crowley shut his eyes, taking several deep breaths, before finally speaking, “Let’s sit down.” When he opened his eyes, it was to find Aziraphale staring back at him with clear blue eyes, from a face marked with far too much stress. Crowley offered out his hand. “Please?”  
  
Aziraphale nodded, silent, before reaching out, closing the distance between them and taking Crowley’s hand. Their fingers laced together, timid and comforting all at the same time. With a gentle tug, Crowley began to led Aziraphale to the back room, where he coaxed the angel over to the sofa.   
  
Aziraphale sank down on the piece of furniture without grace, posture slumping as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. With a quick miracle, Crowley called up a cup of tea with his free hand, foisting it toward Aziraphale. It wouldn’t taste the same as real tea, but right now, he was hesitant to leave the other’s side.  
  
He settled on the sofa beside him, removing his sunglasses, before he finally spoke, “What’s this all about, angel?”  
  
Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment, staring with far too much interest at the teacup in his hands. “I wonder sometimes,” his voice was soft, melancholy, “if I did the right thing.”  
  
“Angel,” Crowley’s tone was admonishing, “I still don’t think you’re capable of doing the wrong thing.”  
  
“Can’t I?” He stole a glance at Crowley, before his gaze returned to the teacup in his hands. “I’ve certainly hurt you plenty of times.”  
  
Crowley let out a breath. “And yet, here we are. I think that counts more. You chose all of this,” he gestured at the bookshop, “everything you love, over something that wasn’t making you happy. So for my two cents, yeah, I think you did do the right thing.”  
  
But Aziraphale’s shoulders hunched. “And yet, I… I’m still scared of them, Crowley. I think… I might have been for a long time now.”  
  
Crowley bumped their shoulders together, keeping his voice soft, his tone gentle. “Heaven has never been good or nice, angel.”  
  
A wet sniffle escaped Aziraphale as he brushed at his eyes. Crowley pretended not to notice.  
“I know, I just… it’s hard. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be used to the idea. And with this note they sent me… They… they’re trying to make me regret interfering with Armageddon.” He brushed a thumb against the edge of his teacup. “Standing up to them, it’s never going to be easy, is it.”  
  
Crowley swallowed hard, choosing his words carefully. “You worked for them for a long time, angel, that’s a lot of unlearning to do.”  
  
“Six thousand years.” His smile was brittle.   
  
“It’s going to take time.”  
  
Aziraphale drew a breath. “But we’re our own side now.”  
  
“That’s right, angel.” Their hands tangled together and Crowley gave a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t answer to anyone but ourselves now. So don’t let them tell you otherwise.”  
  
“I wish it were as simple as that.”  
  
Crowley stilled. “Aziraphale?”  
  
Two eerie blue eyes regarded him, almost shimmering silver in the low light. The power of his divinity, the closest hint to what Aziraphale truly was. “I don’t think… you understood one of the implications of that note, my dear.”  
  
Crowley went very still. “What do you mean?”  
  
Aziraphale drew a breath, calm, far too calm. “They’re trying to make me Fall.”  
  
There was a ringing in Crowley’s ears. And for a moment, he wasn’t in the bookshop, he was back there, wings burning and burning as he–  
  
“Crowley! Crowley, it’s alright.” There were soft hands on his face, and Aziraphale’s deep blue eyes were peering at him, full of concern. “You’re alright, dear. You’re here, at the bookshop with– with me. Nothing’s happened.”  
  
Crowley sucked in a breath. “Angel, angel, you can’t–”  
  
“They _can’t_ make me Fall, dear. Only She can do that, and I– I won’t–” Frustration made Aziraphale’s jaw tremble, and his eyes flash. “I refuse to be– to be bullied by such tactics!”  
  
But Crowley was still shaking. “I don’t underssstand. How can– They’re weakening you.”  
  
Aziraphale hesitated. He brushed a thumb over Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He shut his eyes, letting himself soak up the affection. Aziraphale’s hands were so warm, the pads of his fingers so smooth and soft. He could have stayed there, basking in this, but, for all that Crowley was a demon, he wasn’t selfish.  
  
With a deep breath, he forced himself to pull away. Aziraphale was still watching him, worry dancing in his expression. Crowley swallowed hard, reaching out, and taking one of the angel’s hands. Aziraphale squeezed back, settling beside him on the sofa once more.   
  
There was a moment of silence, each drawing comfort from the other, and then Aziraphale drew a deep breath. “Do you… recall, in the note, the line about my celestial wages?”  
  
Crowley gave a silent nod, not daring to speak.  
  
Aziraphale shifted, looking uncomfortable. “From what I understand of… of your former office, they don’t have anything like this. I suppose only Upstairs would be so…” his voice wavered. He swallowed hard. “Any… anyway, the energy that we use to do miracles, well, my… uh, that is, former employers, figured out ages ago how to… to track how much we were using and, um, how to limit our access if we were deemed to be using too much.” He grimaced.  
  
Crowley stared, and then exploded. “They can– WHAT!”  
  
Aziraphale cringed. “It’s not as bad as it sounds!”  
  
“Not as–” Crowley hissed, forked tongue flicking out of his mouth. “Angel, don’t downplay what they’ve done! _‘Limiting your access’_. They’ve bloody well cut you off!” Aziraphale winced at his words. “That’s why you fell asleep at the restaurant. That’s why you’re devouring food like you actually need it. Those bloody bastards–”  
  
“Crowley, it’s alright.”  
  
“No it’s not! They’re making you miserable.”  
  
“I... Yes, I know.” The ashamed look on Aziraphale’s face made Crowley want to spit curses at everything. “And, as I said, it could be worse.”  
  
Crowley froze, breath hitching. Fire and burning wings. He forced himself past it. Aziraphale squeezed his hand, and Crowley let out a long agitated breath. “How can you be so calm about this?”  
  
“Because they’re leaving us alone. And…” Aziraphale faltered, before quietly stating, “and right now, that’s all I really want.”  
  
There was a terrible ache in Crowley’s chest, like he’d been stabbed. “So what, you’re just going to settle for this? For being tired all the time?”  
  
“Really, Crowley, there’s nothing that can be done.” His smile was apologetic and far too kind. It made Crowley feel angry all over again. “The way I see it, we’ll just have to make do, like we always have. And it won’t be so bad, I don’t think. At least, now I have an excuse to eat more regularly. I can’t complain about that.” He gave a weary grin. “Though, I’ll have to be more careful with my miracles from now on, they’re… rather tiring.” Aziraphale’s smile dimmed, wavering, and Crowley could see the exhaustion bleeding through, that it went past bone, right down to Aziraphale’s etherial atoms.   
  
“Right. That’s not happening. I’m not accepting that your just going to be tired all the time.” Crowley rose to his feet, bringing Aziraphale with him. “This way.” He led a puzzled Aziraphale back through the bookshop and up the narrow stairwell to the flat that lay above.  
  
The angel’s confusion only grew as he was led into his own bedroom. Crowley rolled his eyes. Honestly, the room was more of an extra library than anything else. The space was so dedicated to Aziraphale’s beloved books he might as well have called it a shrine. Crowley breezed in, taking stock of what he was working with. Aziraphale hovered in the doorway, watching as Crowley moved about. With a snap of his fingers, he sent books out of his way. Another snap and the dust was banished, as he homed in on one particular piece of furniture that had likely never seen use.   
  
“Crowley dear, what exactly are you doing?” There was a pronounced frown on the angel’s face.  
  
“Fixing your bed, obviously.”  
  
Aziraphale’s face went red. “Oh dear, I can’t– I mean, that’s very kind of you–” Crowley made a face, but Aziraphale didn’t even seem to notice, “But I’m afraid I cannot accept–”  
  
“Aziraphale, angel, you’re exhausted.”  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. Aziraphale drew himself ramrod straight. The perfect little angel, the perfect little soldier, cramming himself into the too narrow box Heaven had defined for him. Not even seeming to care about the damage he was causing himself by trying to stay in that narrow definition. There was no inflection in Aziraphale’s voice as he spoke, “That doesn’t matter. Angels don’t need–”  
  
“Of course it matters!”  
  
Aziraphale looked startled. He stared, hands twitching, as his mouth opened, and then his eyes dropped away to the floor, voice hesitant, “I’m not– I couldn’t possible ask you to–”   
  
“Yes you can. Anything, angel.” Crowley swallowed, and pushed his heart to be vulnerable. “Anything at all. I want to help.”  
  
Aziraphale’s shoulders did a funny up, down jump. When he spoke his voice was quiet, sounding just as vulnerable. “If I have to do this– this every night, or however often it is, I can’t– I can’t–” his hands wrung around each other, distressed. “I can’t ask you to sit around and just– and just _babysit_ me!”  
  
And finally Crowley understood: the last two weeks, all the research, the very reason Aziraphale had been driving himself into the ground. “You wanted the wards so that you’d feel safe sleeping.”  
  
Aziraphale sank into himself, looking mortified. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. “Pathetic isn’t it? An angel being afraid.” He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, eyes bright. “And afraid of– of sleep, of all things, I just- it’s shameful.”  
  
“You’re wrong.” Crowley voice was vehement. “Aziraphale, there’s nothing wrong with being scared.” Aziraphale looked up, expression hesitant. Crowley closed the distance between them, stopping just short of the other, not quite touching. Aziraphale stared at him, something in his expression hawk like, watchful. Crowley swallowed hard, feeling like he was coming very close to toeing over the line Aziraphale had set. “I mean it, angel.” Aziraphale still didn’t look convinced. “Think of it this way, sleeping, eating, all that stuff? None of this comes naturally to us. Do you remember the first thing you ate?”  
  
The angel blinked. “Oh, that– yes. I was given a piece of flatbread.”  
  
“But you didn’t immediately stick it in your mouth, did you.”  
  
“Well, no, I hadn’t actually intended to eat it at all.” He fell silent, eyes distant, looking back all those years ago. “But she’d been so proud, the first thing she’d baked with her own two hands. I… I suppose I got curious.” He huffed, chuckling quietly. “I hadn’t really thought about eating before that, but right there, holding it in my hand, something that had been created entirely by humans, something no one had ever told them how to make. I couldn’t fathom it. So yes, curiosity won, and I tried it. And I could taste the love that had gone into its creation, even if it was burnt.”   
  
Crowley smiled. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? That we picked something to try, on our own terms.”  
  
Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Is it?  
  
Crowley shrugged. “First time I fell asleep was… an accident.” Right now, he didn’t think Aziraphale would take well to hearing he’d actually been cursed. “Sleeping was… it was nice. Soft. Kinda like you.” Aziraphale squeaked and Crowley panicked. Definitely toeing over the line. “And– and then, when I woke up, everything felt new. Refreshed. Like I wasn’t–” He bit back the words. _Like I wasn’t the stuff of nightmares._  
  
A hollow silence fell over them. Crowley stared at a dusty bookcase, avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze.   
  
“Well,” Aziraphale’s voice was gentle, his words light, “I suppose, given your expertise, you really are an expert on the subject.”  
  
Crowley tried to act nonchalant. “Yup, that’s me, the sleep expert alright.”  
  
Aziraphale glanced at him, hesitating. “And it didn’t bother you, being comatose for so long?”  
  
Crowley considered the question for a moment. He didn’t want to sound like he was brushing Aziraphale’s concern off. “Well,” he finally began slowly, “I mean, it was a little disorienting the first time.” Simply because he hadn’t been prepared for it. “But no more than finding out that stomaches digested things, if that makes sense.” Aziraphale nodded. Pleased, Crowley nodded as well. “Good. Besides, sleeps not a bad thing. Far from it, I mean, humans go comatose all the time. They’re not any worse for wear. Don’t you think, angel?”  
  
Aziraphale was silent, his hands worrying at his vest. Thumbs running over the worn edges, as his nails picked at the material. “I’m not… sure I know about that, I mean, yes, it doesn’t hurt them, but we’re not– I’m not sure we were designed to– to–”  
  
“Design has nothing to do with this remember? We _chose_ this, just like we chose to be on a side of our own.” He paused, voice softening further, “We don’t have to answer to anything but ourselves now.”  
  
Aziraphale looked lost. “But… where does that leave us then?”  
  
Crowley drew a breath. “Closer to being human.”  
  
Aziraphale let out a sharp rush of air. There was a look in his eyes, a decision he was teetering on the edge of. It reminded Crowley of the look the angel had worn just before the Arrangement had finally been born. Aziraphale hesitated. His mouth opened, testing the word Crowley had said, “Human?”  
  
Crowley nodded. “That’s right.”  
  
He let the angel digest that in silence. Aziraphale’s eyes wandered the room, taking in the dusty bed, before he finally drew a breath, looking back at Crowley. “Alright.”  
  
Crowley let out a relieved breath. “Excellent.” With a snapped miracle, Crowley updated the mattress and changed everything over to fresh sheets. “You’ll see angel, there’s nothing quite like waking up in a sunbeam, feeling all relaxed and warm.”  
  
“I– I suppose so,” Aziraphale said, still a little hesitant, “though, maybe, maybe that can wait, just a little bit, I mean, there is the work for the wards to consider–”  
  
“You almost have them, angel.” The face Aziraphale made told Crowley exactly how much he didn’t believe that statement. He sighed. “Well, the explosions are getting smaller right? You just need a little recharge. A break. Start in fresh tomorrow. Healthy doses and all that.” He made a face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”  
  
A smile pulled at the angel’s face, much to Crowley’s delight.  
  
It made him feel a little daring. With a final flourish, Crowley produced a set of comfortable pyjamas that would hopefully met Aziraphale’s utter lack of taste. He held them out to the other, trying to act nonchalant. “So, what do you say, angel, tempt you with a little nap?”  
  
Aziraphale stared at the clothes, before he reached out, and accepted the offered gift. He stared down at them, running a hand over the soft material. Then he looked back up at Crowley. “Should I–”  
  
“No, no.” Crowley realized he was in the way. “I’ll just leave you to it.” He beat a hasty retreat out of the room. Not wanting to look like he was hovering, he returned downstairs, feeling, for a moment, at a loss at what to do with himself.  
  
He looked about the shop, and found himself gravitating toward the collection of books about warding. He’d started paging through one of the tomes they hadn’t read yet, when there was a creak from the stairs. He looked up to see Aziraphale standing at the bottom, pyjamas on (which were now sporting a tartan pattern that hadn’t been there before), along with a matching nightcap that Crowley definitely hadn’t called forth.  
  
Crowley set the book down. “Everything alright, angel?”  
  
“I–” Nervous hands pulled at each other, but Aziraphale’s gaze was surprisingly steady. “I don’t want to be alone.”  
  
Now he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. “Do you want me to–” Too fast. Too fast. He couldn’t say it. But Aziraphale’s eyes had gone so desperately hopeful. “I mean, I could, could tuck you in, show you how to get settled or–or–” He felt mortified, wishing the ground to swallow him whole.  
  
“Would you?” That quiet hopeful tone was all it took.  
  
“Of course, angel.” He was back across the room, following the angel back up to the flat. And good to his word, he walked Aziraphale through settling into the bed, even going as far as to tuck the comforter around him. Blankets settled over the angel, Crowley hesitated for just a moment, before he rocked back on his heels. He cleared his throat, taking in the image of Aziraphale nestled among the collection of blankets. His heart did a funny thing in his chest. Crowley did his best to ignore it, even as Aziraphale continued to stare at him, a desperately vulnerable look on his face. A request for something he wasn’t naming.   
  
Crowley settled in a chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I’m not going anywhere, angel, I promise.”   
  
Aziraphale let out a breath, body relaxing. His eyes slipped closed, before he forced them open again. “I’m being terribly selfish.”  
  
“Demon here, and I can assure you, angel, you are most definitely not.”  
  
A ghost of a smile, and another heavy blink. “Thank you… my dear.”  
  
Crowley reached out, smoothing the blanket down and after a moment, brushed his fingers against Aziraphale’s curls. “Pleasant dreams, angel.” Aziraphale sank closer and closer to sleep, never quite touching, as he kept forcing his eyes open, checking to see if Crowley was still there. It reminded the demon fondly of Warlock.  
  
And Crowley knew one surefire solution to settling the problem. With a deep breath, Crowley began to sing a soft melody, nothing more than Warlock’s lullaby, but with the words thrown out. He didn’t think Aziraphale would really appreciate his lyrical genius right now. He let his voice flow over the notes, a quiet lilt, and that soft assurance, that he was still here, was the little push Aziraphale needed. The angel relaxed further and with a soft sigh, finally fell asleep as a demon kept watch over him.   
  


* * *

  
Morning sunlight streamed in through the window, warming the room. Aziraphale came awake slowly. Hmm, Crowley had been right about the warmth of the sunlight. He yawned, stretching out his limbs as he finally blinked the sleep from his eyes. Crowley was still there, beside him, fast asleep in a chair that had, sometime during the night, fashioned itself more into a recliner.  
  
It left a warm feeling in Aziraphale’s chest as he rose for the day. He scooped up the comforter from the bed, turning toward Crowley. He paused, comforter half raised, when he saw the book open on the demon’s chest. The tome was written in Sumerian by the look of it. The warmth within him grew, and he may have started glowing around the edges as he retrieved the book from Crowley’s limp grasp. Setting it aside, he held up the comforter, and with careful movements, settled it over his dear sweet demon. Crowley didn’t so much as twitch, continuing to snore.  
  
Smiling to himself, Aziraphale tiptoed out of the room. He felt like having tea and crumpets this morning. With a fresh bounce in his step, he made his way downstairs, feeling more energetic than he had in the last two weeks. He decided to forgo opening the shop today, and headed for the small kitchenette. After making tea, and gathering together a tray of crumpets and jam, Aziraphale chose from the his collection the most promising looking books on warding and sigils, and took the tray and books back upstairs to his cozy little bedroom.   
  
Crowley was right where he’d left him, now burrowed so deep into the comforter that Aziraphale couldn’t see more than a few stray tips of red hair sticking out from the top of his blanket cocoon. Aziraphale smiled, and left the demon be, snuggling back into the collection of pillows. He flipped open the first book, and with a crumpet in hand, he focused in on his reading.  
  
He didn’t notice time slipping away on him. Hadn’t realized afternoon had arrived until Crowley flopped against his shoulder with a lazy, “Morning.”  
  
He blinked, momentarily startled, and then he smiled. “Oh, well, good afternoon, I suppose, dear. Sleep well?”  
  
Crowley gave a yawn that would definitely rival a snake’s. “Should be asking you that, angel.”  
  
“Oh well, I feel much better, thank you.”  
  
Crowley gave him a critical look. He must have found what he was looking for, because he nodded a moment later, something easing in his expression. “Good.” He peered at the book Aziraphale had open. “Akkadian now?”  
  
He looked down at the ancient script. “Yes. I was hoping it might solve the… exploding problem.”  
  
“No luck?”  
  
“Afraid not.” He reached for his cup, only to find the tea had gone cold. He didn’t get more then a moment to stare at it, before Crowley snapped his fingers, and warmth returned to it. He gave Crowley a grateful smile. The demon huffed, staring intently at the page Aziraphale had been reading. Aziraphale sighed. “There just doesn’t seem to be a way to ward out everyone who could do us harm. At least, not without invoking something immensely dark, or its holy opposite.”  
  
Crowley sat up, reaching around for the book he’d been reading the night before. His eyes skimmed over the Sumerian text as he opened it. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we’re going about this wrong.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Well…” he drew the word out, flipping through pages until he came to a page showing a simple sigil. “What if instead of hard yeses and noes, what if we just used intent?” Aziraphale stared at him. “Would be a lot easier. They mean harm, boom. Can’t come in. Might even keep some of those pesky book buying humans out.”  
  
Aziraphale leaned in, staring at the page. Slowly his mouth fell open, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the whole ward suddenly coming together. “Crowley that’s brilliant!” He threw his arms around the demon, pulling him into a tight hug. “You clever servant!” And kissed him on the cheek.   
  
Crowley went rigid.   
  
Aziraphale jerked away, realizing what he’d done. “Oh. Oh no, Crowley, I’m so sorry, I never should have– that was utterly thoughtless of me. Please forgive–”  
  
But Crowley caught his retreating form. “Angel.” They stared at each other. Crowley swallowed hard, lips working over words, until he finally was able to say, “There’s nothing to forgive. That was– that was …_nice_. You just startled me, is all.” A deep blush crept across Crowley’s face.   
  
Hope bloomed in Aziraphale’s chest and with it, the return of the resolve he’d made before this whole mess. He wanted to to tell Crowley. To finally say how he felt. Now, that he felt brave enough. “Crowley, I–” He took a breath. “I care very, _very_ deeply for you, and I would never to presume to place you into a situation that would make you uncomfortable, and– and–”  
  
“Angel, breathe.”  
  
He did. He took one deep breath, and then another, calming his clamouring heart.   
  
Before him, Crowley moved closer, and their hands shifted, fingers tangling together. “Angel, the last thing I’m going to tell you is to slow down. I-” But even Crowley’s voice seem to fail him.   
  
They sat there, staring at each other, six thousand years worth of words hanging between them, and the one set of words they’d never said. The one set of words they’d only ever hinted at. They were on the very edge of saying them now, no longer dancing around each other, and, this time, this time Aziraphale knew he felt brave enough to leap.  
  
“I love you.” The words rushed out of him, tripping over each other, desperate to be heard. He looked at Crowley, heart soaring. There was nothing holding them back. Not anymore, and with no hesitation, Aziraphale said it again, “I love you, Crowley, my dear sweet serpent.”  
  
“Ngk.” Crowley’s entire face went red. He swallowed hard, before he replied with just as much vehemence, “Me too, angel.”  
  
This time, Aziraphale knew he glowed around the edges. He squeezed Crowley’s hands, a delighted laugh escaping him. “I would very much like to kiss you again, my dear.”  
  
Crowley nodded eagerly. “Yessss.” Aziraphale leaned in. His lips had brushed Crowley’s, before there was a loud _‘pop'_. Crowley vanished into a pile of scales and tight snake coils. “Dammit!” His tongue flicked out with indignation or embarrassment. Aziraphale was too busy laughing to discern which emotion. “It’ssss not funny, angel.” Crowley struggled to right his serpentine body, and Aziraphale leaned down, helping him, before he placed a single kiss on Crowley’s nose.   
  
Crowley melted back into a mess of noodlely scales.   
  
Aziraphale didn’t mind. Sure they had a lot of work ahead of them, setting up the wards, but Crowley had been right. They were doing more than just making do with the situation. They’d chosen this. This life. This place as their home. And each other. Let Heaven send all the rude notes it wanted. Aziraphale was happier right where he was, right here, on Earth, with all his books, indulgences, and the most importantly, the one very sweet snake demon who had won his heart.  
  
And with all of that in mind, Aziraphale could easily say, with their own side, this was more than he’d ever dreamed of.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it! The first one shot in a series of… I’m actually not sure how many. I’ve started work on a sequel, so one more at least. I wanted to try my hand at a connected universe, see how that works. Funnily enough, the title for this series: ‘Gently Rise & Softly Fall’ sorta comes from a song called ‘Parting Glass’. I say sorta, because I misheard the line in the song, which actually goes ‘gently rise and softly call’ but hey, what can I say, I liked my version of line. Yay for mishearing song lyrics. 
> 
> I’ll admit, I was going for a lighter piece with this one shot, slight break, after the last two I wrote. Not sure if I fully succeeded. Character drama is waaaay to fun to write. That being said, I did have quite a bit of fun writing the part with Aziraphale trapped in the ward and trying to wake up a sleeping Crowley. That and swooning snake Crowley at the end.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed~!


End file.
